I’ve noticed this
growth on my cat’s right
cheekbone. It seemed to be
growing by the day.
what is a man
—but
blood and sack
pricks of light
gone with the water
gone with the fire
I attended a séance
at a house in the suburbs
the medium was a
twelve-year-old boy
making crumbs
of a peanut butter sandwich
A boy answers the door, though no one knocked
and the door hadn’t asked a question.
As girls of the cul-de-sac it was our job to show the new ones
how it was done. Show them the head full of bees, the shapes
we continued to resurrect before getting it right.
Adonis has already arrived
in New York City.
This is what
my mother tells me.
You could drop a grand piano
from a fifth story window
and smash the box to bits
but that would also smash the girl.
Nothing living would be left.
We settled into ourselves and the talk. I remember
less of what we said than how it felt.
Between us, stilled spoons and glasses, each
with a glint of candlelight, bending slightly,
as we joined in the purr and put of ideas: listen,
and respond, a back and forth in which we joined.
—my grandma doesn’t know. My grandma watches
the news. We hear a woof and I woof back—my grandma thinks
I’m dead//talking like a dog//coyote-hungry—I can’t find any money so
I work for it in the night.
In zombie movies there’s always a couple who fuck
one last time, drink some wine and just give up.
This is the only reason I can think of
to fall in love again. On first dates men often ask
how you would rather die,
I kid you not, drowning or fire.
They want to know my body even as it’s destroyed
by my imagination. The world is burning
and we can’t stop saying the word tender.
We pass a massive plaster cow perched above a party store. We pass an American flag obliterating the landscape, then an ice cream shop. I want to wonder with you what the cow means. But you are not a morning person and I love you.
Read MoreTo be birth marked on arrival to wade through
Sulfurous waves is no easy burden.
Set your eyes to the horizon and inhale.
When the starving sea groans and its monsters leap,
Hold fast to those songs that stem from the ocean’s depths.
Do not waver, sing!
At high tide in April, we caught the sun’s sleeve
after school in our underwear—how the water
chilled our brains into a mushy orchard, numbing
our toes and fingers purple-yellow like Mardi-Gras
confetti. I clutched our mother’s neck but then
so did my brother. That’s why we weren’t allowed
to watch Jaws. You shouldn’t watch it either.
The car is parked in a ditch before the toll booth,
its lights off and the doors locked.
I don’t have a dollar,
and the booth worker has let me
walk to the convenience store in town
to take money from the ATM.
It’s spring already, and the flowers
in the night are blooming like a dead woman’s hair.
His smile is crooked, cracked, but blimming Bostonion perfection. He’s having the benedict with crab cakes, at $32. My fork jabs a bite; spits out the blue lump crab meat. It’s an East Coast thing he says, the seafood and breakfast thing.
Read MoreIt dreams
of a thousand bees in the field
where it is not roaming. It dreams
of sweet honey water,
so we do our best. We try
to get the mixture right.
in this country / we are buried in the places they want us to be / we say our names before looking up to god for the promised america
Read MoreThe first time I had sex
was fine in the done
and done sense. He said
Now you’re a woman.
I thought, Not your call.
The second time I had
sex I don’t remember.
Nearby, we had raised our glasses
& nourished our bodies
in a sea-salt lull, as the air is often gentle.
Not today.
I didn’t learn
consent until
twenty-three,
fucking a woman
who needed yes
with every action,
asking can I touch
you here? Is this okay?